On the Fenceline – Essay

By Stephenie Hendricks

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Welcome to an Environmental Humanities Curriculum that presents stories from those with lived experiences within realms of environmental health (EH) and environmental justice (EJ). The subjective research methodology deployed is Scholarly Personal Narrative (SPN), which uses stories as data (including my own), anchoring to larger themes and other scholarly research. While far from comprehensive, this is my student-centred introduction to the relatively unknown work of those who dedicate their lives to making a healthier world for all of us. I understand that people can share the same experiences and then look back with different perceptions of that experience. These are my perceptions, with acknowledgement that former colleagues may recollect something that might be quite different. I encourage any former colleagues to contact me if you feel that what I am remembering differs from your memory and could in any way cause harm to you or your work.

After working in robust journalism careers, I found myself providing communications support for people dedicated to protecting our environmental health. I began as a Communications Director with an NGO working on pesticide issues and went on to coordinate communications for a collaborative with more than 200 NGOs working on various aspects of EH and EJ. I found EH and EJ to be inextricably linked (Crumb). Clean air, clean water, clean land, food, personal care products –– essentially everything we used to take for granted as safe –– may now harbor invisible man-made toxic threats. Please read the “Complexities” essay for a discussion of the nuances around these issues. 

People working in these realms, whose stories you are about to hear, engage in a type of work that is not for the faint of heart. It takes courage, perseverance, and dedication to the greater good. Here, we focus on stories from community members, scientists, health care professionals, and social justice advocates with whom I have worked with over the years, or whose work I’ve come to know. I’m in ongoing collaborations with some participants in my project.

In this essay, we’ll touch on the recent history of EJ as a movement and then hear about some specific communities impacted by manmade toxic chemical exposures in Kenya, the Arctic, Canada, and the U.S. with advocates whose voices are heard in the companion podcast for this module. I’ll also briefly address the parallels with work on social justice and EJ protections. I deliver this to you as a white, cis “mature” woman in hopes that students will explore the many issues presented here more deeply, offering your own positionality and experiences for a greater overall understanding for everyone.

A Brief Environmental Justice and Fenceline History

Most people working within the realities of EJ advocacy point to events that began in 1978 in Warren County, North Carolina, as being an historic catalyst for the modern EJ movements. That’s when men working for a white owned waste hauling company dumped polychlorinated biphenyls (otherwise known as PCBs), in a contaminated liquid, spread along the roadsides in a predominantly Black community to avoid high toxic waste disposal charges. The residents objected, and eventually the state’s response was to build an official landfill for depositing the toxic waste there (Vasudevan 19). Concerned with water contamination and economic harm to local farmers, the community organized and fought back. Eileen McGurty, with John Hopkins University, explains:

Residents in Warren County, supported by civil rights leaders with authority and power on the national stage, questioned the spatial and social distribution of environmental risks as well as the procedural inequities that perpetuated these risks. When these ideas moved into the public discourse, they resonated deeply with many poor people of color across the country, who were confronted with various forms of environmental risk. The environmental justice movement embodies these concerns, questioning the equitable distribution of environmental costs and benefits, the role of the environmental establishment in creating inequities in environmental risk, asserting the need to ameliorate environmental problems in concert with the alleviation of poverty and oppression, and the potential for eliminating sources of contamination at the point of production as a means of achieving these ends. (McGurty 4) 

The advocacy and resistance to polluters born from Warren County gave inspiration to disproportionately impacted communities elsewhere. You can hear Robert Bullard, often called the “Father of Environmental Justice” (“Biography”), discuss Warren County, a definition of environmental justice, and more in the podcast for this module.  He goes into more detail in the “Broken Ground” podcast from the Southern Environmental Law Center in the Explorations section of this module.

Social Justice and Environmental Justice

It is no accident that the rise in advocacy runs parallel with social justice shifts. Civil rights attorney Ben Crump defines the relationship between social justice and environmental justice:

Social justice aims to ensure fair treatment of individuals and groups. The concept of social justice is that every group or individual receives a fair share of social and economic benefits, as well as environmental benefits. As such, environmental justice is an integral part of social justice. In social justice, advantages, as well as disadvantages, should be distributed evenly across all members of society, regardless of their race or background. There can be environmental advantages as well as disadvantages. Advantages include access to green spaces, clean water and air, and others. Disadvantages can be hazards from waste or industrial facilities, air, or noise pollution from traffic, as well as other detrimental environmental hazards. (Crump)

To Crump’s points, I witnessed first-hand collusion between the chemical industry and the U.S. government that resulted in social injustice. While on conference calls addressing reforms for the Toxic Substances Control Act (TSCA), the U.S. regulatory statutes for chemicals, the chemical industry lobbyists consistently resisted the terms “vulnerable populations” to be included for prioritization of racialized communities disproportionately impacted by polluting industries. “Vulnerable populations” are described as low income, children, elderly, who often are also fenceline communities (of color) (Vulnerable Groups and Toxic Exposures). To me, to discount vulnerable populations as a priority for regulatory protection and resources was a severe injustice and ubiquitous. For example, Fernández‐Llamazares et al. looked at more than 300 case studies documenting health impacts among Indigenous people worldwide from pollution, including among Inuit, Cree, Ojibwe, Dene, Mohawk, and Métis in Canada and found disproportionate polluting across the board (Fernández‐Llamazares  et al. 326).  

While the localized hazards described by Crump impact BIPOC communities disproportionately, they may also include manmade toxic chemicals that last a long time. This quality, which scientists call “persistence,” means these toxins can travel from where they are originally applied, leaving “footprints” along the way, which can impact all life (“Grasshopper Effect Serves Pollutants”). We’ll address this in more detail later. One such toxin is also one of the most well-known, DDT. Learn more about how the links between DDT and massive die-offs of songbirds prompted a seminal environmental health book, Silent Spring, in the “Brief and Recent History of Environmental Health” module. While withdrawn for use in the EU, the U.S. and Canada, chemical companies continue to expose developing nations to DDT (Sarkar et al.  14).

Africa

 

Dr. Paul Saoke, head of Physicians for Social Dr. Paul Saoke, head of Physicians for Social Responsibility – Kenya, an East African nation – is frustrated that chemical corporations and other industries are free to pollute on his continent, virtually with impunity. I met Paul when he and other health advocates in Africa approached Pesticide Action Network North America (PANNA) for assistance. I was Communications Director with PANNA and was asked to go to Washington, DC to help with a Congressional briefing to support the efforts of Dr. Saoke, representing other physicians and scientists from various countries in Africa, to halt a plan by a major agrochemical corporation to use U.S. taxpayer funds to spray DDT. The official justification was to “stop malaria.” However, research was showing that the malaria carrying mosquitoes rapidly became resistant to DDT (Coleman et al. V). 

We couldn’t prove it, but folks in the various countries targeted told us that they suspected that the corporation pushing this campaign wanted to spray DDT as part of a strategy that would open EU markets for their GMO crops growing in Africa. At the time, the EU had a ban on GMO foods imported from African nations (Martin 366). There was also a ban on foods produced in African areas where DDT is sprayed (Cocks). Even before the start of spraying, the U.S. was asking the EU to lift bans on foods grown in areas where DDT is sprayed (McKay). At the time, the company pushing for the DDT use in Africa was conducting GMO trials in several African countries (Dzirutwe “Africa Takes”).  If a ban on agricultural products from African countries where DDT was sprayed is reversed, could lifting the ban on GMO foods be an easier lift? These were questions we could never answer. Other than that, it was puzzling why they wanted to bring DDT back and normalize it when the health impacts were so widely known. If you want to hear the story of the victory blocking U.S. funding for DDT spraying with Dr. Saoke and the environmental justice advocates who rallied behind him, check out the short podcast, “DDT in Africa” in the Explorations section of this module. While funding from the U.S. government was blocked after EJ advocates rallied, the corporation sprayed DDT anyway. Dr. Saoke relays what happened:

We have seen a lot of studies that indicate that male reproductive health problems have their origins in their exposure to DDT …. We are seeing precocious puberty, we are seeing feminized males, we are seeing testicular dysgenesis, we are seeing all manners of androgenic problems, problems that are related to male reproductive health problems. And that is by no means an easy thing to deal with. Because in African society, we are dealing with a very restrictive environment where information does not flow freely. So, people end up, especially males, end up suffering in silence. And a lot of these things catch up with them, for example, if you don’t treat undescended testicles, if you don’t undergo or testicular surgery, then you’re likely to get prostate cancer by the age of 30, or testicular cancer. (Paul Saoke)

You can hear more from Dr. Saoke in the podcast for this module, as well as in the “Health Professionals on the Front Lines” module. Dr. Saoke works to reduce both DDT and other chemical exposures in disproportionately impacted marginalized communities throughout the world. 

            DDT is one of many Persistent Organic Pollutants, otherwise known as POPs, that last a long time, and which global weather patterns tend to carry northwards from where they are made and applied (Wong 2). Indigenous communities in the Arctic receive disproportionate exposures, even though they are not living in the places where the chemicals are made or applied (Ibid). 

The Arctic

2009

  The room at the National Council of Churches on Capitol Hill is packed. U.S.EPA officials and staffers, participants in our NGO collaborative, and others are seated to watch traditional dance and song from the Indigenous Yupik people from St. Lawrence Island, located in the Arctic on the Bering Sea. Led by elders, the drumming is strong and echoes throughout the building. The women wear traditional, colorful dresses, dancing. When they are done, they offer a prayer that their mission can be achieved: to halt the toxic manmade chemical contamination of their island that is linked to so much illness and suffering in their communities.

“Ummmm, this is good,” remarks an EPA staffer, in his suit and tie, as he scarfs down smoked salmon on crackers. The Yupik had brought it with them in coolers. Other Capitol Hill staffers around him nod in agreement, their mouths full. 

“It was so nice of them to bring this to the presentation, a real ‘native’ touch,” comments another. I wince at his patronizing tone.

“You may be aware,” begins Vi Waghiyi, a Yupik elder, “that Persistent Organic Pollutant chemicals drift north on wind and water. The Arctic is a sink for toxics applied in the Global South.” Vi has her PowerPoint up and is showing maps of chemical travels. 

“We depend on our traditional foods for survival. A gallon of milk can cost $25, a turkey as much as $125 on St. Lawrence Island. So, we need to get our protein from sources such as salmon. The toxic chemicals bioaccumulate in the food chain, and so our salmon, the same salmon you are eating now, are full of persistent chemicals linked to the illnesses we are seeing on St. Lawrence Island.”

I watch as the government officials slowly realize what Vi is saying. Some spit out their salmon right away, some try to discreetly deposit it in napkin, others look stunned, wondering what they have just swallowed. If many in the audience had been lightly watching the quaint Indigenous festivities, their attention now is deeply focused on Vi.

Vi Waghiyi and members of her community traveled to Washington to gain policy for cleaning up the toxics the military have left buried behind, and for strengthening regulations on manmade toxic chemicals applied so far away from St. Lawrence Island yet drifting to them and impacting their lives all the same. Liver cancer, reproductive problems, different types of other cancers and heart disease plague the Yupik of St Lawrence Island (Carpenter and Miller 1). The barrels of chemicals buried by the U.S. military on the island decades ago, have corroded, leaking dangerous toxics into the surrounding environment (Jordan-Ward 2). On my visit to Anchorage, Alaska, to meet with Viola Waghiyi, she informed me that babies were being born on St. Lawrence Island without brains. Check out Vi Waghiyi’s UC Davis talk in the Explorations section of this module to see and hear her tell the stories in her own voice. Vi is also featured in the podcast for this module. The longer research interview with Vi is also posted in the Explorations page.

North America

In this module’s podcast, former Director of Public Health for the city of Hartford, Connecticut, Dr. Mark Mitchell, shares his discoveries of inequities in toxic exposures. He describes this in the podcast for module as well as in the “Health Professionals on the Front Lines” podcast. Dr. Mitchell’s observations provide evidence that BIPOC communities are disproportionately impacted by man-made toxic exposures. Due to this dynamic, it came as no surprise to Dr. Mitchell that when he started to speak with other Black physicians about environmental health hazards, they were much more receptive to the concepts of environmental exposures being linked to illnesses. Visiting communities nationwide removed doubt in Dr. Mitchell’s mind of the connections between the exposures and the illnesses (Mark Mitchell).

In between those in the U.S. and St. Lawrence Island, in Canada, the Asabiinyashkosiwagong Nitam-Anishinaabeg or Grassy Narrows First Nation near Dryden, Ontario, and Aamjiwnaang First Nation in Sarnia, Ontario, also understand the seemingly never-ending struggles with health impacts from manmade toxic exposures. While I did not work directly with them, when I learned of their stories, I realized their importance and wanted to include them in this project. The Aamjiwnaang people live next to petrochemical plants. The late Aamjiwnaang community advocate Ron Plain described the conditions in Sarnia, a fenceline community next to petrochemical plants in the “Green Interview” with Silver David Cameron along with his colleague Ada Lockridge. Hear excerpts in the podcast for this essay. Ron Plain explained a common response from polluting industries: that ‘‘lifestyle” causes people to be sick, not toxic exposures. Dr. Mark Mitchell was told that “eating barbecue” was the reason given to one community he visited for their illnesses that also happen to be linked to toxic exposures (Mark Mitchell). While carcinogens and other toxins can lurk in barbeque (Smith, Leo “Grilling”), “Lifestyle” is often the polluting industry’s explanation for illness in the communities in which they release toxins (Scott 320). See the “Complexities” essay for more on the discussion of “lifestyle.” Those working to make their communities healthier question emphasis on this point of view (Singer 151). 

More than 1,600 kilometers north of Sarnia, another Indigenous community became contaminated with a strong neurotoxin that is still showing health impacts after more than sixty years. Starting in 1962, for eight years, more than 10 tons of waste contaminated with methylmercury was put into the English-Wabigoon Rivers by the Dryden Chemical Company in Ontario, Canada. The Asabiinyashkosiwagong or Nitam-Anishinaabeg, also known as the Grassy Narrows First Nation’s community, is downriver from where the neurotoxin was discarded (Rothenberg 071301-1). The Public Service Alliance of Canada produced a film called The Story of Grassy Narrows with residents talking about their illnesses. In excerpts from the film, we hear Judy Da Silva, telling her story of being poisoned by mercury. She is the mother of five children who are also impacted by the contaminated water (Cameron). A link to the entire film can be found in the Explorations section of this module.

A team of biologists led by a University of Quebec scientist, Donna Mergler, wrote a report linking Grassy Narrows mercury exposure to intergenerational effects on children’s mental health, including suicide (Mergler et al. 077001-8). Mergler’s research on mercury exposure is part of an emerging body of scientific investigation looking at mental health impacts from neurotoxins. Previous studies have identified links between lead, which used to be added to gasoline, pesticides used on food crops, and children’s mental health problems such as autism spectrum disorder, attention deficit disorder, and more (Rauh and Margolis “Research Review” 775-776). 

In addition to the neurotoxic impacts, many BIPOC individuals bear the stress from racism, or what geographer Robert Walker might define as lack of recognition (Walker 171). Being economically marginalized and other pressures add to health issues (Paradies et al. 26). This is something impressed upon me by one of the most effective EJ advocates I’ve known, Cecil Corbin-Mark from WEACT for Environmental Justice in New York, who was among the first to explain to me how the pollution related illnesses worsen from stressors such as racism. Cecil (pronounced Sess-al) convinced participants in our EH collaborative to hold meetings in Harlem. He arranged our lodging, and I was honoured to have been placed with one of Harlem’s historians, who filled my room mates and me in on knowledge about this amazing community.  Wherever we went, it seemed as though Cecil had prepped restaurateurs, state officials, and others based in Harlem of our presence. Witnessing how well-loved Cecil was there deepened my understanding of the importance between community relationships and well-being, especially for people experiencing daily stresses from racism. Cecil was on my list of participants for this project, but, sadly, passed away suddenly before I was cleared to do interviews.  I can’t help but wonder if the stress of racism and doing EJ work contributed to his untimely passing. You can hear University of California, San Francisco, environmental health researcher Dr. Tracy Woodruff from the University of California, San Francisco, further address stress as being an additional factor along with pollution exposure for health impacts in the “Health Care Professionals on the Front Lines” podcast in this curriculum.

Making Progress, Making Change

Despite the complexities of identifying toxic exposures, EJ protection advocates have managed to build strong coalitions and are achieving rapid policy changes. One way of accomplishing this is by being able to collect and analyze data. Dr. Monica Unseld, founder of Until Justice Data Partners, assists communities with knowing how to do this. She says that many fenceline communities don’t feel they can question the pollution, nor the company- reported data information, because the company and government officials’ line is that the polluting facility provides jobs (Monica Unseld). In Louisville, Kentucky, she’s known firsthand of children needing to be on respirators at home because their neighborhood air is so contaminated. When she sits on advisory panels or attends hearings, she challenges the company/government messaging and argues that harming communities is expensive for society. Through Dr. Unseld’s work, communities are learning how to provide their own evidence for protective policy and regulatory change. Listen to the podcast for this module to hear Dr. Unseld describe the importance of community centered data collection and analysis (Monica Unseld). 

Other environmental justice-focused scientists are making great strides. University of California, Berkeley, biochemist Tyrone Hayes has been elected to the U.S. National Academy of Sciences (“Tyrone B. Hayes Elected”). Dr. Hayes is renowned in EH circles for his research that demonstrated that a commonly used herbicide, atrazine, could alter the hormones of amphibians. His discoveries led to attacks from the company that makes the herbicide after hiring him to study the biologic impacts of their product. When Dr. Hayes found endocrine disruption effects, the company that makes the chemical attempted to have Dr. Hayes fired from his position where his lab was based at the University of California, Berkeley. Undaunted, Dr. Hayes returned to his lab there and replicated his findings. Read about Dr. Hayes’ tremendous scientific victory in the New Yorker Magazine article, “A Valuable Reputation,” in the Explorations section of this module

2005

“ Senator Obama would like to see Dr. Hayes right now in his office.” Barak Obama’s staffer wears a well-tailored suit, holding a clipboard to her chest. “The Senator doesn’t have much time.” She is addressing her comments to House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s staffer, also sporting a nice suit with a similar determined look on her face. 

“The Speaker was scheduled first, the Senator will have to wait for Dr. Hayes,” parries the Pelosi staffer. Dr. Tyrone Hayes, and I are seated in the waiting area of Speaker Pelosi’s office along with a couple of other EH advocates from that morning’s Briefing, watching this volley between the two staffers as though it was a tennis game. That’s when it hits me: I am with a rock star scientist, and I am instantly ashamed.  When I had first seen Dr. Hayes in his outfit. I  had my doubts earlier in the day as how he would be received by the Congressional crowd.As we began our Congressional Briefing on why the U.S. should not fund a major chemical corporation to spray DDT in various countries in Africa, I never doubted his scientific knowledge or ability to translate the science so that “civilians” could understand. I know that he is exceptional in both of those points.  As a former mainstream TV talk show producer, I’m keenly aware of appearances and how important they are to any audience. Strangers in New York City dictated what our San Francisco based co-hosts could wear on TV. Dr. Hayes arrived that morning with very long dreadlocks, capped by a top hat. He was sporting a tuxedo and a cape. The look was what we call “steam punk” now. To say the least, this was highly unusual garb for a Congressional Briefing. I feared his clothing would harm his credibility. Man, was I wrong. Here, two of the most powerful legislators on Capitol Hill are battling over who gets to spend time with him. I realize how lucky I am to just be sitting next to him.

Hear Dr. Hayes explain DDT in the “DDT in Africa” recording of the Congressional Briefing in the Explorations for this module. Thanks to the work of Dr. Hayes and many others, protections from manmade toxic exposures in EJ policy have grown. In 2023, for the very first time, a U.S. White House Environmental Justice Advisory Council was created consisting of many members of the Environmental Justice and Health Alliance (EJHA), a group I worked with fairly closely for a few years. As I write this, there have been a rapid number of advancements in U.S. policy for EJ protections, thanks to the determination and hard work of so many. 

In the U.S., many fenceline environmental struggles play out in courtrooms. One notable legal victory was born after twenty years of Texas shrimper Diane Wilson’s relentless determination. Her advocacy began when she discovered that her county had the highest pollution levels reported in the U.S. Toxic Release Inventory (Toxics Release Inventory [TRI] Program), a federal government database for voluntary emissions reporting from corporations (Wilson 36). She noticed that these toxic releases coincided with diminishing shrimp populations and a declining fishing industry. More disturbing were the cancers and other illnesses among her fellow fishermen (183). I first encountered Diane when I was a producer at the Pacifica Radio flagship station, KPFA, long before my work in EH or EJ communications. 

2002

“Diane Wilson has chained herself high atop this big chemical tower!” yells Jackson Allers, a reporter from KPFT in Houston who I’d asked to cover the event. Jackson’s voice is live on KPFA radio in Berkeley, on one of the programs I produce, Caroline Casey’s “Visionary Activist” show.

“Jackson, describe the scene. Are police there?” Caroline’s husky voice coaxes his story.

“Caroline, there are a lot of workers here from the company and they are yelling support for Diane Wilson. Oh, yes, I see company security, now, and, oh, here they are, Texas state troopers, this is getting …” 

“Jackson? Jackson? Are you there?” Caroline looks at me, I signal to the radio board operator to go to music while I try to redial Jackson. We never do reach him. He’s been arrested and taken to jail.

I still feel bad about asking Jackson Allers to cover the story of Diane Wilson chaining herself to a huge chemical tank to protest the pollution in her community from the company that owned the tank, and having him end up in jail.  Yet this illustrates another issue in fenceline protection advocacy: Getting the story out is not easy. 

Diane prevailed, not only to get the story of her own community told, but she also created relationships with survivors of the worst toxic chemical disaster in history, the explosion of a pesticide plant (the same company polluting Diane’s community) in Bhopal, India, in 1984 that killed 30,000 people right away, and exposed more than 500,000 more to toxic chemicals linked to severe health impacts (McCord 2).

Check out the link to “Union Carbide Disaster in Bhopal India” Flashback by NBC News for sobering reporting of this disaster in the Explorations section of this module. Diane went on a hunger strike to call attention to this catastrophe still waiting for justice (“Life is Not a Spectator Sport”). You’ll also hear more about Diane’s story in the podcast for this module. Her book An Unreasonable Woman: A True Story of Shrimpers, Politicos, Polluters, and the Fight for Seadrift, Texas (Chelsea Green), is a compelling accounting of her struggle. You can find a link to it in the Explorations section. The encouraging news is that, since I began this project, Diane won a fifty-million-dollar judgment against one of the corporations that is polluting her community. She uses those funds to continue to clean up the toxic exposures (“Diane Wilson”).

Challenges to EJ

            Please read the “Complexities” essay for a brief examination of some of the challenges with defining environmental justice and hazards. There are many. 

            For now, my subjectivity is focused on assuming EJ concerns are factual and real. I’ve not commenced any critical investigation of environmental justice. For one thing, I do not believe it is my place, as a white person, to declare that I have authority to define EJ. I have been certified by the University of British Columbia, Okanagan, Behavioral Research Ethics Board. Within this year long process, I pledged that my project would not harm my participants. From my experience, I believe that polluting entities can weaponize academic “critical examination” of EJ and that this could further harm already harmed populations by being used to block regulatory, legislative, and judicial efforts, using academic publications. 

As mentioned, at the time that I am working on this module, there are great strides being made in the policy world in the U.S. with fenceline and EJ protection advocates. It is thrilling to see people I’ve worked with or whose work I had supported finally gain positions of decision making and the recognition they so deeply deserve. This overshadowed my disappointment with not being able to connect directly with some of them since they were now engaged significantly in making regulatory and policy changes, and too busy to participate in this project. 

Another issue that occurs to me is one that arises when white academics research BIPOC issues.  While the white researcher may gain a degree and potential career advancements from the work, many communities being researched are asked to spend time on this academic effort, often with little in return after the researcher has left to finish their studies. This is defined as “academic voyeurism” (Murray-Lichtman and Elkassam 181), which is a form of exploitation. In part because I didn’t want to do this, in some cases, I looked for Creative Commons recordings or asked for permission to use existing recordings of advocates who had basically already said the things I felt were important to be heard in my podcast. I was lucky to gain permission to use the voices I knew would be very difficult to schedule. It is my deepest hope that this OER will serve to support the work of those you hear in this module.

One cannot study EJ and fenceline issues without also acknowledging racism. The coinciding shifts taking place after George Floyd’s murder have accelerated debates concerning racism in academia (Bates and Ng 1). For example, there is an emerging consensus that white academics are no longer entitled to define experiences of BIPOC people (Hassan 26), and I am no exception. Rather, it is time for white academics to listen to BIPOC folks and, if anything, help create a space for BIPOC’s own definitions of their own experiences to be heard and become part of the public discourse on policy. It is called epistemic exclusion when white academics value only their worldview and definitions and exclude from consideration the variety of BIPOC worldviews (Settles 494-495). There is still a lot of work to be done in this regard. My own experience as a white woman is that I will always be learning. 

Writing about EJ for this project, primarily for the “Complexities” essay, has been so difficult in part due to the years I have spent working to help create space for BIPOC voices to be heard. Whilst it may not be obvious, I fear that some of the academic arguments considered “critical thinking” around EJ might be used to cast doubt on the credibility of people who are already suffering, under resourced, and oppressed, in legislative, regulatory, and judicial scenarios that favor polluting corporations. Scientific doubt has already been weaponized, time and again. 

Never Ending

I wish there was time and space to list more of those working on EJ and fenceline issues here, but due to the limitations of this project and the sheer number of advocates, I’m afraid it is impossible to tell the stories of all who are working towards environmental justice. While EJ advocates work hard to strengthen social justice, science, health practices, and policy toward successes with environmental justice protections, those aren’t the only strategies used by environmental justice advocates. I would be remiss if I didn’t direct you to “My Toxic Reality,” a rap song by Environmental Justice Advisory Chairman for the Port Arthur Texas, NAACP chapter, Hilton Kelley.

Hilton left a successful career as a stuntman in Hollywood to return to his hometown to fight, and win, battles against the pollution from the petrochemical industry. Hear the song in the podcast for this module and watch Hilton’s victorious story in the Goldman Fund videos in the Explorations section. 

Despite the “doubt” strategies (see the “Complexities article”), systemic racism, being on the front lines of polluting industries, and so many who are ill and even dying in the process of their fights, environmental justice advocates prevail. As we can see, they are working hard not just for their own communities, but also to make yours and my world healthier, too.

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